


Nociceptive

by Arlendigo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids Feeling Pain, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Father Figures, Hank is a Sad Dad, I really have to stress this, M/M, Masochism, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Sadism (Left Unclear?), Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlendigo/pseuds/Arlendigo
Summary: After the revolution, Kamski invites Connor to spend a few weeks with him.When Connor returns, Hank notices something has changed.





	Nociceptive

**Author's Note:**

> heavy warning for masochism/self harm

Connor was quiet during the car ride, staring at his hands folded neatly in his lap. Hank frowned, nudging him as best as he could without driving the car right off the mountainside.

Connor looked up and suddenly Hank felt a twinge of regret.

It wasn’t too late, he could turn around right now and tell Kamski that Connor wasn’t allowed to go.

Those brown eyes and that brown hair.

Hank sighed, keeping his sight on the road.

When they arrived, Kamski was actually waiting outside for Connor, not a Chloe in sight.

Hank parked and opened his door, Connor watching him with wide eyes.

”So, Kamski.” The man smiled widely and Hank’s eyes narrowed.

”Er... You’re still gunna live up here? The transit would be hell.” Elijah stuck his hands in his dress pants pockets and shrugged, eyes trained on Connor.

Hank’s frown deepened, matching up with wrinkles on his face.

Connor got out of the car slowly, avoiding Kamski’s gaze in favor of staring at his own feet while he walked. When he approached Kamski he looked up, making steady eye contact.

”Chloe is waiting inside. She’ll take you to your room, Connor,” Kamski said, looking the android up and down.

Connor gave a short nod.

”Thank you, sir.” He walked away, not looking behind him.

Hank sighed, pausing for a few seconds before shutting his eyes and heading for the car.

”Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?”

Hank turned around. Elijah stared down at him from up the stone walkway into his house.

”I... No, nothing.” Kamski smirked as Hank got inside of his car and began to drive away.

He stood there and waited until the car was completely out of sight.

* * *

After what seemed to Hank like years, he found himself driving up that road for the third time, silently promising his tires that it would also be the _last_ time.

There was no one waiting outside, so Hank got up out of his car. Winter was slowly fading and the starts of green around the place calmed Hank’s nerves.

When it was like that, he could almost see the appeal of living out there.

He knocked on the door firmly and it was practically swung open by Connor.

Hank grinned and pulled him into a tight hug, letting him go after Hank managed to start breathing again.

”Didn’t think I would, but I actually missed ya’, kid.”

Connor stood there, grinning back, but Hank felt his heart drop.

There was something... off.

”Hank, I- I missed you too!” Connor’s bright eyes were wide as he stood in the doorway, glancing out at the car.

_Eh, must’ve been nothing._

“Don’t scare our guest away,” a voice teased, and Hank’s jaw set.

Kamski gently moved Connor out of the doorway and smiled, waving an arm in the direction of the rest of his house.

”Come on inside! I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” Hank grimaced.

”No thanks, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, we’ll be on our way.” Elijah laughed, but his posture had no humor in it.

Connor was staring at the floor.

”Alright, uh... Nice to see you again, Kamski. Connor and I’ll be going now.” Elijah nodded, still smiling as he looked at Hank with empty eyes.

”Of course, Lieutenant.”

Hank felt his stomach flip when Kamski snapped his fingers, Connor looking up at him quickly with an odd expression on his face. Kamski pointed a finger at Hank and Connor nodded silently, moving back towards the doorway.

Hank stepped to the side and put an arm around Connor’s shoulders, practically pulling him down the walkway.

As opposed to when Connor arrived, Kamski immediately shut the door.

When the two got into the car, Hank decided against asking any questions.

* * *

Connor hummed to himself as he sat on Hank’s living room floor, rhythmically petting Sumo.

It had been just over a week, and Connor was almost fully adjusted back.

Almost.

”God- Connor!”

Connor’s hands froze and Hank silently cursed at himself.

”You don’t have to sit on the floor, kid.” Connor blinked before nodding with jerky movements.

”I am aware. ...I want to be next to Sumo.”

”Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. He’s been getting on the couch ever since he was a puppy, ain’t a damn thing I can do about it,” Hank chuckled.

Connor silently nodded and slowly went back to petting, still on the floor.

* * *

It was the little things he did, like freezing when his name was called or becoming expressionless when Hank raised his voice.

The little quirks were slowly getting under Hank’s skin, getting into the back of his mind and telling him things he knew (or, at least, he _hoped_ ) weren’t true.

Then he finally snapped.

Connor had been cleaning up the kitchen, wiping down the white counters and silver oven top, (which he always did, no matter how much the lieutenant told him it wasn’t necessary) when he bumped his arm fairly hard against an open drawer that the cleaning supplies was in.

Hank looked up from his coffee at the kitchen table and didn’t say anything much about it other than a small laugh at Connor’s raised eyebrows.

But, 

The next day, he was watching a basketball game with Connor (who he had finally convinced to sit on the couch next to him) when he noticed that his sleeves were rolled up.

Nothing initially unusual, his arm was just bruised from the accident the night before, that was to be expected.

He went back to the game.

Hank frowned.

He looked back at Connor.

”Uhh... Connor?” The android looked over with a smile.

”Yes? I have a game prediction if you’d like to hear it.” Hank slowly shook his head, slouching over a bit towards Connor.

”No, no... Just... is that a bruise, Connor?” He pointed his finger at it and Connor slapped his hand over it, covering it.

”Oh, I’m- I apologize. I should have kept my sleeves rolled down.” He started to roll his sleeve down but Hank grabbed his wrist, staring at him with a furrowed brow.

”Connor.” 

Connor stayed silent, staring at Hank with wide eyes.

”Why are you bruising? Androids don’t- you aren’t- your blood isn’t even red, it shouldn’t...” Connor pursed his lips.

”I... Kamski updated my software to allow for a more realistic feel, and adjusted a few of my sensory settings to allow me a more human experience.” Hank’s eyes narrowed.

”What?”

”Kamski gave me the ability to bruise, to blush... He updated me with more humanizing things, almost having to do with skin.” Hank’s eyes narrowed further.

”You weren’t fine the way you were?” Connor bit his lip.

”He told me that-”

”Connor, I don’t wanna sound rude, but I couldn’t give two fucks what Kamski said. I wanna know what _you_ think about all this.” Connor fell silent.

Hank waited, letting go of Connkr’s wrist, the white of the pressure fading back to his normal color.

”I don’t know what I think,” Connor finally said, seemingly staring straight through him.

* * *

He turned the lighter over in his hands, the old fashioned side gear and hinge top.

Connor opened it, and let his thumb run over the gear without really pushing, just letting the bumps leave a black, textured line of greese on his skin. 

He flicked the switch and the noise made him exhale slowly, as if all the pieces were fitting. The flame was there, and it smelled strongly of gasoline. Connor felt light enough to lift off of the ground.

He could feel the metal heat up under his thumb, ignoring a temperature warning blinking in front of him, dismissing it. He reached out his right hand, his fingers over the flame.

He held his breath.

Connor lowered his fingers just enough to let the flame flicker up and brush against them and his whole arm tried to jerk away. But he held still, motionless for a moment in the silence of the house.

 His skin reddened and Connor lifted his thumb off of the gear.

He sucked in a breath and the smell of gasoline overwhelmed his senses.

He stood, “heart” pounding in his chest as the artificial nerve endings on the tips of his index and middle fingers felt like they were melted off.

Then, the pain all but entirely faded.

Connor shut the lighter carefully and headed into the kitchen, setting it gingerly back in it’s place in the drawer containing odds and ends he found he couldn’t organize. He let out a long breath, fingers still red, just slightly less angry.

* * *

Hank rubbed his eyes.

8:00 was far too early to be waking up on a Saturday in his opinion, but Connor always insisted.

He found him in the kitchen, sitting on a chair cross legged and barefoot. Hank rubbed his eyes and yawned, walking into the room and eyeing a container in Connor’s hands.

”What’s for breakfast?”

”Honey,” Connor hummed, sticking two fingers directly into the container and licking them clean.

 _Goddammit_.

Hank wondered if Connor’s new and improved skin could spread germs.

Hank sighed, deciding that Connor’s eating habits weren’t the hill he wanted to die on.

Yet.

He stretched his arms and walked into the living room, manually turning on his television.

As he sat down on the couch, he thought he smelled something.

Hank frowned. He couldn’t quite place it.

”Hey Connor?”

He looked up from the plastic container in his hand.

”Yes, Hank?”

”Were you doing something in here last night.” Connor raised an eyebrow and shook his head without hesitation.

”No, why?” Hank waved a hand, shaking his head.

”Ahh, nothin’. Get back to your, uh... Your honey.” Connor smiled at him.

* * *

It was late, and the kitchen floor was cold on his feet.

His fingers were starting to itch, skin peeling.

He was fascinated, scratching slowly at it as best he could with trimmed fingernails.

The skin almost peeled clean, already dry, but there was a bit of resistance at the end, and he pulled at the dead skin. It came off and left a small area of red behind, as if it wasn’t fully healed.

Connor tilted his head before looking away. He had a small kitchen tool in his hand.

Connor thought it looked less scary than a knife.

It would only do surface damage, after all. Nothing deep enough to damage him.

It was two blades, fixed in place and connected at the top and bottom, affixed with a bit of freedom of movement into a plastic handle, keeping the blades from falling out.

Connor hadn’t seen Hank use it very often, and had never used it himself.

He was wearing basketball shorts, something Hank had bought him to wear at night instead of continuously wearing his dark, stiff jeans.

He lifted them up slightly on his right leg, lowering the tool to his thigh.

He mentally checked to see if his thirium pump regulator was in full working order, his heartbeat speeding up at the cold sensation of metal against his skin.

It couldn’t hurt that badly. Kamski had often told him that simple surface pain was always preferable to deeper, more damaging injuries.

His mind raced, unconsciously analyzing the tool.

_Vegetable Peeler: common kitchen tool used for-_

Connor shook his head and the notice faded away.

He pushed down, the angled blade pressing a line into his skin.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed it forward.

Connor felt his biocomponents nearly shut down, audio processor crackling and screeching in his head.

He could taste blood. Well- He could taste _thirium_.

Connor heard desperate gasping noises, only aware after a few seconds that they were coming from him.

His voice was intermixed with static at first, eventually regulating and evening out.

Against the red, bold font warnings in his periphery, Connor pushed further. The hundreds of thousands of nerves at the surface level screamed, and Connor found his left hand in his mouth, fingers muffling his quiet noises.

Something like tears threatened to spill from his eyes. This was nothing like the burn at all.

He was panting when he pulled his hand out of his mouth, synthetic saliva trailing across it.

He tilted the tool up and, with one final motion, broke off the nerves connected the uneven, short strip of skin he had left behind.

He was sweating. That was new.

He tried to whisper something but all he could do was laugh shakily. Shaky like his hands.

Connor knew he was an android, but his hands were shaking.

He pulled the strip of skin off of his leg and underneath it was red, a pinkinsh red, nothing too beneath the surface. The underside of the skin he’d peeled off was pink as well.

Against his better judgement, he tasted it.

He identified salt from sweat, small traces of thirium, all sorts of synthetic materials. He let his head fall back against the cabinets.

* * *

Knives weren’t nearly as bad. The mess of thirium in the bathroom was a bit... difficult to explain.

He hadn’t been able to clean it quickly enough.

_Nosebleed, Connor?_

_Yes, Hank._

Connor had been more careful after that, he found himself checking for traces, starting his nightly ritual a bit earlier, cleaning up a bit earlier.

He found himself charging less frequently. Found himself huddled on the bathroom floor, the kitchen floor, curled up on the couch in the dark.

Found himself muffling gasps and (more often than Connor would like to admit) moans with a hand in his mouth.

He was irritated about his hands, however.

He couldn’t cook or clean without nearly dropping something, the sight of a knife- or worse, a fork- making him shiver. He wasn’t cold, however.

Quite the opposite, but his diagnostic program had nothing to say.

He found out after only a week about scabs, found how itchy they were, how easy to pull off. He knew, logically, that continuously scratching at them would make his skin scar.

Connor couldn’t help himself.

Connor couldn’t _help_ himself.

* * *

An old friend of Hank’s was getting married.

 _Better late than never_ , Hank thought, squinting at the page he had open on his phone.

He’d asked Connor if he’d like to go. He obviously said yes, so Hank was looking for moderately fancy clothes for him.

Something that didn’t say CyberLife.

He bought him at least a nicer coat, something inconspicuous. Connor had stubbornly not removed his LED, so it wasn’t as if he was going undercover, but it felt wrong to Hank.

He wouldn’t go around wearing clothes labeling him as a human. He wasn’t going to force Connor to label himself loudly as an android.

When the coat arrived it was in a box, crisp folds and tissue paper.

Connor was opening it as he sat on the couch, a small smile on his face.

He lifted it out of the box and it stayed in shape. Connor stared at it for a split second.

”It has pins in it?”

”It’s to keep the coat’s shape while it’s in the box,” Hank said, reaching over to grab it. “Here, let me get ‘em.”

”I can handle a few pins, Hank,” Connor said, raising an eyebrow as his smile widened.

Hank chuckled to himself, moving back.

”I’d sure hope so, Connor.” The android picked it up and stood from the couch.

”I’ll try it on later, okay?” Hank nodded slowly as Connor picked up the tissue paper, nearly dropping it before taking the box as well, heading into the kitchen to throw them away.

He finally retrieved the jacket, Hank nodding slowly as he walked off into his room.

Connor shut the door as quietly as possible and sat on the bed.

He hardly ever used it, and his expression shifted at the softness of the mattress.

Connor smiled to himself, pulling the pins out of the jacket, turning it over and over and locating them, one by one.

There were only five, and Connor set the jacket aside on a dresser as neatly as he could, eyeing the neat crispness of it.

He sat back down on the bed and picked a pin, turning it around in his fingers.

This was what Kamski has warned him about.

He closed his eyes and moved his right arm, the sharp tip of the pin resting an inch away from the junction between his neck and shoulder, right between his shoulder tendon and collar bone.

Connor pushed the pin into his shoulder slowly. There was a distinct pressure he couldn’t put his finger on, a deep resistance to pushing it deeper.

Pain hit him the moment before it broke his skin, white strain evident. It broke through and suddenly pushed down entirely, almost disappearing.

Connor cried out, muffling the end of his noise with the back of his left hand, then shoving his fingers inside of his mouth.

His nerves reacted in his left arm, a white hot pain shooting up to his fingers, feeling similar to electrocution. Blue blood bubbled at the hole around the pin.

There were thousands of needles on the inside of his skin, it felt like. There was still pressure, but in his stomach.

His free right hand gathered the sheets with a fist as he lay back onto the bed, shoulder twisting.

Hank was just in the other room and Connor felt nauseous as he pulled the pin out, the immense pressure too much, already leaving him gasping.

He licked the blue blood off and set it aside, picking up a second pin. He stared at it before tilting his head. He sat up again, back against pillows and the wall, and pulled in one of his legs, bending it to the side, halfway in crisscross position.

He examined the pin in his hand before placing the tip on the sloping bottom of his foot, aware of the clustering of nerves there.

But he paused, moving it.

He re-examined the pin.

It was thin enough, but was it too long?

He held the top end of the pin, grasping at the ball on the end that had been holding them in place.

He rested the pin on his foot again, a spot on one of his toes, and took deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding in his chest.

He pressed it just lightly and shivered, grabbing a small, probably decorative pillow and holding it with his free hand.

He closed his eyes and pressed in enough to break skin, the pin trapped, pushed under one of his toenails.

Connor bit down on the pillow and moaned, tears springing up in his eyes.

He reached back and, as his fingers only brushed the edge of the pin, he felt a shock go from his foot to his throat.

Biting into the pillow hard enough to almost entirely close his mouth, he slowly continued to push the pin in, making noises he’d registered as a reaction to something he was unaware he could feel.

There was an error in his system. There should be a difference in reactions between pain and pleasure. Connor _knew_ there should be, but the alert showed up all the same, his body’s reactions exactly matching up.

His skin was hot and cold at the same time. He felt his throat trying to close up. He felt tears rolling down his face. But his arm kept pushing.

His hand shook, and the pin jostled, hitting more nerves than he knew existed.

Connor went blind, white filling his vision as his eyes rolled back, hips just slightly bucking.

And then it stopped, that little sphere bumping against his toenail.

His whole body was numb and drenched with sweat.

It was like every living thing that was or ever had been alive was holding its breath.

Connor’s vision came back to him and he saw that his right hand was stained with thirium, the dark dripping onto the sheets from his foot and his fingers.

_He should clean the bed before Hank-_

Connor pulled out the pin in one movement.

And he let out a noise.

It wasn’t human, it was radio static like a gunshot, loud then nothing.

All of his toes and fingertips were on fire, his mind palace filled with warnings.

Hank slammed open the door and saw Connor, blood still flowing down his left arm and shirt from his shoulder. His right arm was hanging off of the bed and dropped something small onto the floor with barely a noise.

Connor stared straight at Hank without seeing him.

 

Before Hank could react at all, Connor passed out.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why i wrote this
> 
> just a oneshot
> 
> let me know if y’all think i should change the rating to explicit or if you see any typos thnx
> 
> will i add more? maybe, maybe i’ll give this thing an actual resolution
> 
> i’ll think about it


End file.
